


Good Omens

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Good Omens, Crack, Fluff and Crack, Footy Secret Santa, Good Omens AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2839466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good Omens!AU where Cesc is Crowley and Iker is Aziraphale and they team up to save the world even though nothing goes as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Omens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleedingdaylight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingdaylight/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, sweetheart! I have to warn you that this has been the hardest one-shot I've ever written, I admit. I am sorry if it is not even close to what you wanted in the Footy Secret Santa [http://footy-ssanta.livejournal.com/], but :( *gulps loudly*  
> I hope you have a brilliant Christmas Eve! All the best-est! <333

The end of the world is near. Well, it has always been – Iker thinks about it – but it is near _er_ now, and it is creeping through the corner. The Apocalypse is inevitable, the Final Judgment would cast its dangerous spell over the human race, and the destruction would be final.

 

Iker thinks a lot these days, to be fair. Thinks of what have been and what could be. Being the guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, calling Heaven ‘home’ although Earth is closer to him, has been his destiny. Now, when the End Times are approaching, he is not sure of all this anymore. Not to mention, his biggest trouble.

 

Cesc. Francesc, if you wish. Hell on Earth, the Evil, the fucking serpent who tempted Eve to eat the damned apple (and Iker wishes he doesn’t feel the hatred (?) towards this demon in the corpus of an apple – he is an angel, after all – but somehow it always crawls within him).

 

Long story short. The end is near, the Anti-Christ is somewhere around, and there is no way Heaven would allow that. The problem arrives with the statement that Hell is also strongly against the current situation. And that could mean one thing only.

 

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ del Bosque (God, you mean) rolls his eyes almost out of his skull as Iker sends him a confused glare, ‘You heard me absolutely right.’

 

‘Yeah, right, ok, I can deal with the Anti-Christ myself.’

 

‘Allow me to interrupt your sweet talk,’ coughs David (the Silva one; the one who always creates problems for del Bosque when he sneaks out to visit the other David – the Villa one – in Hell. Good Villa has retired now and their meetings are rarer. Or are they?) ‘But no, Iker, you can’t. No one doubts you are strong and, much more, you are comfortable with living on Earth and dealing with different um... examples of the human race, but we are talking about the Anti-Christ here.’

 

‘Fine. Who would be the _partner_?’

 

Del Bosque grins and Iker swears to all the angels (including himself), he can spot the mischievous sparkle in the God’s eyes, ‘Thought you’d never ask.’

 

\---

 

‘Well...’ Cesc chuckles and Iker sighs, shrugging, ‘Well, this could have been worse, to be honest. How are you, Casillas?’

 

Iker shivers. When Cesc uses his surname, things on his body get _disturbed_.

 

‘Mind if I...’ Cesc twirls a cigarette in his fingers and grins once again, not waiting for a response, but lightning it anyway. Lets out a thick smoke right at Iker’s face, ‘How is it even possible for you to grow older but to look better, Casillas, hm?’

 

‘We. Have. To. Work. Fabregas.’

 

‘Of course we do. This Anti-Christ thing. What was his name again?’

 

‘Ramos. Sergio Ramos Garcia.’

 

‘I guess, Torres is also part of all this fuckery, isn’t he?’

 

Fernando Torres. Witch. The only one who could possibly know something about the Anti-Christ, due to his years in Liverpool (don’t even ask) and his acquaintance with the great witch Steven Gerrard. The latter one has once written a book called _The Fockin’ Great Prophecies of a Scouser, Mate_ , which was thought to be the single most accurate source for everything one needed.

 

\---

 

Iker sighs as he closes the door and ticks a huge red ‘x’ at his notebook. Lifts his gaze up at Cesc.

 

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

 

‘Do you _really_ think that Ramos is the Anti-Christ?’

 

‘Let’s see...’ Iker looks down at the notebook (trying his best to avoid Cesc’s intense gaze) and clicks his tongue, ‘First, always starts fights and ends up being the nightmare for all his friends. Second, always drops important stuff – cups, vases, some trophies – and breaks them. Third, has awful taste in music...’

 

‘Yes, indeed, what _wonderful_ proofs that he is the Anti-Christ,’ Cesc pauses, ‘You’ve met him, you know he is not _that_ dangerous.’

 

‘Well...’

 

‘And I remember you telling Xavi and the rest that you kinda liked him.’

 

‘Are you jealous?’ Iker smirks and Cesc rolls his eyes, ‘You _are_. Don’t worry, I am all yours. Well, until we find _who_ that Anti-Christ is and-...’

 

Lightening. Thunder. Lightening. Thunder.

 

‘For fuck’s sake! What was that?’

 

Torres lifts his eyebrow and points at the book in his hands (the Steven Gerrard’s one).

 

‘Here it’s written _Rico, guapo y buen jugador_ , whatever that means.’

 

‘If I didn’t know it was about the Anti-Christ, I would’ve thought the book was describing Xabi Alonso,’ Cesc giggles and Iker sends him a death glare, ‘You know, Steven and-... Never mind.’

 

‘The lightening came from the-...’ another lightening and Iker sighs loudly, ‘Where are the Four Defenders of the Apocalypse when one needs them?’

 

‘Seriously?’ Piqué appears in front of them, yawning and stretching, ‘Man can’t take a good nap without being disturbed by you two, lovebirds.’

 

‘We are not, actually...’

 

‘Yeah, yeah, Iker, we get that,’ Cesc winks at him and steps towards Piqué, ‘Where are the others?’

 

‘Turns out the Anti-Christ you all have been looking for...’ Arbeloa (alright, if Iker wasn’t in _need_ , he would never have called him) ‘Lives in the palace right there and is called – ha, ironically – Cristiano.’

 

‘By the way...’ Alba coughs from aside, ‘He has an apprentice these days, teaching him stuff and-...’

 

Another lightening. Starts raining.

 

‘His name is Ricardo. The apprentice, I mean,’ Marcelo grins at Iker, who puffs.

 

It stops raining and a beautiful rainbow appears. Seconds later, it starts snowing.

 

‘Well, from the absolutely-not-obvious change in the weather, I can say that this Cristiano teaches his apprentice-...’

 

‘Don’t start with your innuendoes,’ Iker frowns.

 

‘...-in an interesting way,’ Cesc grins and Iker sighs.

 

Iker snaps his fingers and all seven of them are right in front of the palace, slowly creeping in. They hear a thunder in the distance, then a noise. _Moaning_. Iker subconsciously looks at Cesc who licks his lips and grins again.

 

‘Let me guess...’ a tall figure suddenly appears at the staircases. The tanned man steps slowly, gracefully, the silk black robe slightly opened to reveal his chest. He smiles, his eyes vividly sparkling, ‘The Angel, the Devil, the Four Dumbheads – sorry, _Defenders_ – and the Witch. All here to fight the Anti-Christ. Don’t bother.’

 

‘No, no, don’t get me – _us_ – wrong,’ Cesc waves with his hands, ‘We came here to have a good um... _talk_?’

 

‘Really?’

 

‘Seriously?’

 

Cesc gulps at his friends’ comments, then nods. The man grins and steps down, approaching them.

 

‘I was kinda _busy_ when you arrived,’ he makes them a gesture to sit down.

 

‘Teaching the apprentice?’ Marcelo chuckles, the man licks his lips.

 

‘You can put it that way too, yeah.’

 

‘Sorry, I don’t believe you are the Anti-Christ but here it’s written-...’

 

‘ _Rico, guapo y buen jugador_ ,’ the man interrupts Iker, ‘Yep, that’s me. And yes, I _am_ the Anti-Christ.’

 

‘Um, we should kinda... You know, get rid of you,’ Cesc coughs, scratching the back of his head.

 

‘Frankly, I’ve had several demons and angels trying to _get rid of me_ – separately, if I may add – and yet, here I am,’ the man lifts his chin up, ‘Come on, you are even more sinned than I am.’

 

Cesc and Iker send each other a puzzled look, and the man grins from ear to ear.

 

‘You two need the right _teaching_ , though,’ the man winks and Iker gulps loudly, ‘Come one, _Angel_ , tell me you have never _ever_ thought of the possibility of having the Devil for yourself only.’

 

‘I-...’

 

‘...-doing things to him. Being gentle, savouring every inch of his skin...’ the man does on, and Cesc coughs, redness covering his cheeks. Cristiano grins, ‘Ah, yes. What about you, _Demon_? The desire burning in you? The desire to grab the Angel and throw him against the wall; to spoil him, to ruin his beautiful soft skin with bruises, to make him unable to walk for days? Hm?’

 

The only noise in the room is Marcelo’s chuckle. Cristiano smirks, proud of himself. Both Iker and Cesc look at their toes.

 

‘Is being an _Anti-Christ_ so bad?’

 

‘Well...’

 

‘Is being guided by your lustful desires so bad?’ Cristiano hums his question, ‘I fought with myself – fought for years, mind you – and even thought of surrendering myself to the greater Gods. And then I found _him_. So pure, so naive, so... _mine_. And when I thought that I could use my greatest powers and take him, _he_ was the one to take _me_. _He_ made _me_ his. So, I guess, I surrendered, after all. To the greatest God of them all. You should try it too before aiming to save the Earth.’

 

 

‘Shooo?’ Cristiano snaps his fingers and everyone in the room lifts their eyes at him, ‘I am talking about the greatest cure out there.’

 

‘Love?’

 

‘ _Love_ ,’ Cristiano nods at Alba’s innocent question. Another silence. He flips his robe and winks at Cesc and Iker again, ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me...’

 

He disappears as quickly as he had appeared. Iker looks at the pink Cesc and smiles softly.

 

\---

 

If you want to imagine the future, imagine... imagine a garden, a flower, a leaf, a _palace_. And a summer that never ends.

 

And if you want to imagine the future, imagine a dress... no, imagine a robe, silk black robe, flipping around, covering a slim but toned body, exposing its tanned skin to the first rays of the morning sun; imagine a sound, a moan, a whisper barely heard, but tickling the back of your neck; imagine a sparkle in the eyes, an intense gaze, a clouded from lust look when you stare at the eyes of the beloved one; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human, all _loved_...

 

Slouching hopefully towards La Roja...

 

...forever.

 

Iker moans.


End file.
